Mountain Country Courtship. Glynna Kaye

she’d promised? She was supposed to pave the way for his visit.

      A quick glance around the entryway and into the spacious front parlor confirmed they were alone, but he lowered his voice.

      “Actually, Ms. Keene... Lillian...” His mother had been clear about his marching orders. “I was asked to come here for what, depending on my findings, may result in something else altogether.”

      “And what would that be?”

      He shouldn’t be discussing his mother’s business with anyone other than Viola Everett, but no doubt the condition of the building, her aunt’s health and subsequent ability to perform her job well were fair topics for this niece who was evidently so involved with the inn.

      “I’m here to let your aunt know,” he said as gently as he could, “that depending on my evaluation of the property, her managerial contract may not be renewed. The inn may be closed.”

      * * *

      Please, God, this can’t be happening.

      But it was. And it was her fault.

      Heart pounding, Lillian took in Hayden Hunter’s somewhat road-weary sea-blue eyes and dark brown, neatly styled hair. He was solidly built—a navy golf shirt emphasized broad shoulders, and charcoal Dockers showed off slim hips. A scar nicked the corner of his mouth, and the firm jaw was in need of a shave this late in the day. But now she couldn’t believe she’d thought him story-worthy handsome when she’d first spied him talking to Taylor.

      With an agenda like his, he was no storybook hero.

      “Charlotte is considering closing the Pinewood Inn?” Her words came out more sharply than intended. “Why? Because my aunt spoke up for her own best interests and those of your mother? Tried to persuade her that much-needed upgrades to the property are overdue?”

      A flicker of surprise, followed by a slight narrowing of his eyes, confirmed Denny had been taken aback by her heated response. And didn’t like it.

      “What is your connection to the inn? Other than that it’s managed by Viola Everett, who happens to be your great-aunt. Are you employed here?”

      “No, I’m not an employee. I’m...”

      What was she? A Phoenix librarian by profession. Then when her single aunt had faced serious medical obstacles in January with a fall that broke a hip, she’d taken a leave of absence to care for her. After a series of personal setbacks of her own, she’d ended up staying on, assuming the day-to-day management of the inn around part-time library clerk employment. A position that, God willing, might soon open up to a full-time one.

      Hunter Ridge not only was her aunt’s lifelong home, but was more conducive to meeting the needs of Lillian’s troubled niece—for however long Taylor remained with her this time. Both great-aunt and niece, however, would have to pack up and go with her to Phoenix if she was unable to support them here. Unfortunately, relating those personal details to Denny Hunter wouldn’t prove her validity to speak on her aunt’s behalf that he was seeking.

      “I believe, Ms. Keene—” A faint smile touched his lips. No more Lillian. “—that I should speak directly with your aunt regarding business matters going forward.”

      “But I’m—” Don’t go there. Don’t further sink your aunt’s ship by implying she’s no longer capable of running the operation on her own. “My aunt would be entirely comfortable with my participation in conversations regarding her role and the future of the inn.”

      He shrugged. “If she’s agreeable, I’ll continue this conversation with both of you.”

      “Then I’ll let her know you’re here.” Lillian’s smile evaporated as she headed to the rear of the inn.

      Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

      Knowing what she did from Aunt Viola about Charlotte Gyles and her history of animosity toward Hunter Ridge, why had she encouraged her aunt to email her employer with what might be interpreted as demands? In fact, her aunt had balked at emailing the requests, but Lillian had been persistent, naively placing confidence in the fact that Mrs. Gyles—formerly Mrs. Douglas Hunter of Hunter Ridge—held her aunt in high regard. Hadn’t she, in many respects, indulged Aunt Viola in allowing her to manage the inn when she’d retired from her librarian position?

      Lillian hadn’t expected a backlash.

      The kitchen and dining room were empty of both aunt and guests, so she let herself into the two-bedroom apartment she and Taylor currently shared with the inn’s manager.

      The little girl was sprawled on a floral love seat, her nose buried in a book, and Lillian’s heart contracted at her resemblance to Lillian’s younger sister, Annalise. Slim build. An upturned nose. Long-lashed green eyes that reflected a wary fragileness not often seen in a child her age.

      But was that any surprise?

      Her mother, red-eyed and sniffling, had dropped her daughter off on the first day of June, whispering that she needed time to breathe. To live life apart from the never-ending responsibility of child-rearing. She had a new man in her life—of course. And right then and there, she handed off Taylor’s overstuffed suitcase, gave her bewildered daughter a hug and drove away.

      Again.

      The look Taylor gave Lillian as she entered the apartment and placed the ticket envelope on the table was anything but welcoming. That was a familiar pattern that always followed when the child’s mother put in an unexpected appearance. In a few days, however, Taylor would recover from her mom’s visit Saturday, and all would be well again—or fairly well—between aunt and niece.

      Drop off. Visit. Reclaim. Drop off. Visit. Reclaim.

      How long would it be before Annalise again tired of the latest man in her life and bounded back into Taylor’s, sweeping her from Lillian’s arms and away from a stable home? Annalise wasn’t a bad person, but she was immature and too often thought solely of herself. Was Lillian morally obligated to try to gain legal custody? Or was she fooling herself that if given the opportunity she could eventually break down the walls her niece had built around her heart, which had her pulling away when anyone got too close.

      Shortly after Taylor’s arrival, Lillian had guiltily consulted a lawyer. But he’d warned that with her being a single woman, currently working part-time and in temporary housing with an elderly aunt, she didn’t have much to prove that her situation was superior to her sister’s. And now, if the inn closed, they’d lose the roof over their heads until other arrangements could be made. So things would look worse than ever, should she attempt to take legal action now.

      “Is Aunt Viola here, Taylor?”

      Focused again on the book, she didn’t look up. “Nap.”

      That extreme weariness was one of the reasons Lillian continued to stay on with an aunt who’d always welcomed her for visits when as a child and adolescent Lillian needed an anchor in the storm of her parents’ seminomadic lifestyle. An anchor against which Annalise chose to rebel.

      As much as Lillian wanted to continue the discussion with Denny, however, she wouldn’t wake her aunt. She’d be groggy. Not at her best. Not how Lillian wanted Charlotte Gyles’s son to see her. With a regretful glance at Taylor, she stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut. Then, mustering what she hoped was a convincing smile, she returned to the front of the inn, where she’d left Mr. Hunter.

      In her absence, he’d moved from the entryway into the front parlor and was inspecting the fireplace. Had he checked out the crack in the window? The drapery rod pulling loose from the wall and the water stain on the ceiling? What were his qualifications, anyway, to be “evaluating” the inn?

      And judging her aunt.

      Unfortunately, the latter was what he was undoubtedly here for as much as anything. To report back to his mother that her aging friend was no longer capable of fulfilling her responsibilities. The condition of the property was a secondary issue.